Author: Joelle Casteix

  • The California Clergy Sex Abuse Powder Keg

    The California Bishops Conference thought “it” was all over in 2007 …

    The Golden State, chiefly forgotten since the 2007 $660 million settlement against the Archdiocese of Los Angeles, has been overshadowed lately by a devastating grand jury report in Philadelphia, large civil child sex abuse settlements in Delaware and the Pacific Northwest, and the international scandal sweeping Europe and Australia.  The thousands of pages of clergy sex abuse and cover-up documents that victims were promised as a part of the 2007 LA Archdiocese settlement have been languishing in legal limbo.

    But slowly and quietly, the scandal in California is heating up again.  In the past few months alone, California courts have witnessed criminal convictions, on-going and upcoming civil sex abuse trials, and yes, the continued cover-up.

    California is a clergy sex abuse powder keg ready to explode.

    Unmonitored Predators Roaming Free

    Last month, an Associated Press investigation, which started with a few of the legal documents available from the Los Angeles Archdiocese 2007 litigation, found:

    …nearly 50 former priests and religious brothers from the LA archdiocese who live and work in 37 towns and cities across California, unsupervised by law enforcement or the church.

    Another 15 are scattered in cities and towns from Montana to New York, while 80 more cannot be located despite an exhaustive search by attorneys representing those who have sued them for abuse.

    But that is just the beginning.

    Criminal Convictions – One South, One North

    In the first two weeks of May 2011, two California priests were criminally convicted on charges of child sex abuse.  In San Bernardino (in Southern California’s Inland Empire), Fr. Alejandro (Alex) Castillo pled guilty to lewd conduct with a boy under 14.  The crimes took place in 2008.  The priest, who denied the allegations until the plea deal was announced, collected more than $20,000 from his friends and supporters to pay his bail in October 2010.  The “Coalition to Exonerate Fr. Alex” has been quiet since the plea agreement was reached. Sentencing is scheduled for June 2011.

    Castillo had a long career in Los Angeles, Sacramento and San Bernardino.  Because he avoided a trial, Castillo’s past and any cover-up will remain secret unless other victims come forward or a civil suit is filed.

    On May 5, 2011 in Northern California’s Monterey County, Fr. Antonio Cortes was sentenced to a year in jail for molesting a boy in 2009.  According to press reports, the Diocese of Monterey is paying the priest $2500/month in living expenses.

    Northern California: Wine, Agriculture, and a Whole Lotta Cover-up

    The Diocese of Monterey has other problems.  Fr. Edward Fitz-Henry, a priest originally from Ireland, has been accused of sexual abuse by two children, 20 years apart.   Police are investigating the second report.  The discrepancies begin with the accounts of what diocese officials knew about Fitz-Henry, when they knew it, and whether or not they did anything about it.  According to the church’s own reports, Fitz-Henry was sent to treatment for sex abusers after the first allegations surfaced, but the bishop allowed him to remain in ministry.  All the while, Monterey’s Bishop Garcia told parishioners that no priest credibly accused of abuse is allowed to work in the diocese. A civil suit has been filed.

    In the Diocese of Stockton, Fr. Leo Suarez was removed from ministry in 2010 when he admitted in 2009 he had sexually abused a girl in 1991.  The diocese claims that they have no idea where Suarez is now and that he will not be allowed to work as a priest.

    But just like Monterey, Stockton’s troubles are only starting.  A judge has ruled that there is enough evidence for a civil sex abuse trial to proceed against popular priest Fr. Michael Kelly and the Diocese.  Although there is enough evidence for a civil child sex abuse trial, Bishop Stephen Blaire thinks that there is not enough evidence to put the priest on leave.  Kelly is still the pastor of St. Joachim’s Parish in Lockeford.

    A few miles away in Fresno, Fr. Eric Swearingen is still working as a priest, even after a jury found 9-3 that he had sexually abused a boy.   The victim said that he would settle for $1 if the diocese would simply remove Swearingen from the priesthood.  The trial ended in a mistrial, because jurors could not decide if the Diocese of Fresno was liable for Swearingen’s behavior. Bishop John Steinbock decided that the jury had it wrong and let the priest keep his job.   Steinbock passed away in 2010.

    Head down south, and it doesn’t get any better.

    Sun, Sand and Abuse in Southern California

    In the Archdiocese of Los Angeles, Martin O’Loghlen, a priest who admitted in the mid-1990s to sexually abusing a teenage girl and to being a sex addict, was only removed as a priest at Holy Name Parish and school in San Dimas when the New York Times called and asked questions.  The Times also found out that O’Loghlen served on the Sex Abuse Advisory Board for the Archdiocese while he was being sued for child sex abuse (a case that eventually settled) and after he had admitted the crimes.

    The Archdiocese claimed ignorance and clerical errors, and “fired” the vicar for clergy. Unfortunately, their claims of ignorance don’t hold water: the Archdiocese had participated in the sex abuse lawsuit, the victim had been trying for years to get O’Loghlen removed, officials had full knowledge and documentation of the abuse and they even listed O’Loughen as an accused priest in their “Report to the People of God.”

    In Orange County, civil child sex abuse trials are scheduled in July 2011 against Fr. Alexander Manville and admitted serial predator Fr. Gus Krumm, two Franciscan priests.  Krumm worked at Saints Simon and Jude Parish in the Diocese of Orange for 10 years, even though he had been implicated in a report about sexual abuse at St. Anthony Seminary in 1993. Orange Diocese officials kept Krumm in ministry for years after learning of a subsequent sex abuse settlement with one of Krumm’s victims.  Krumm later admitted the abuse.

    The Franciscans fought all the way to the California Supreme Court to keep documents about their abusive clerics secret.  They lost.  Documents outlining the misdeeds of men such as Krumm, Manville and seven others, as well as the cover-up that ensued, should be available to the public later this year.

    Former Orange County super-priest Michael Harris has two sex abuse trials scheduled for October 2011 and February 2012.  Harris, who was the long-standing principal at Mater Dei High School in Santa Ana and the founding principal of Santa Margarita High School in South Orange County has been accused of abuse by more than ten kids.  Settlements against him have cost the Diocese of Orange and Archdiocese of Los Angeles somewhere around the neighborhood $10 million.

    Civil sex abuse trials are also pending in Los Angeles against the Archdiocese and incarcerated priest predator Michael Baker (the priest who self-disclosed to Cardinal Mahony in 1986, and then went on to abuse until 2001).   Three sex abuse and cover-up cases against Baker and the Archdiocese and are scheduled to go to trial in June 2012, according to the victims’ attorneys.

    A civil sex abuse and cover-up trial is also scheduled in July 2011 against the Archdiocese and Fr. Fernando Lopez Lopez, who began abusing kids in Los Angeles soon after his arrival from Italy in 2001.  He was arrested in 2004, convicted, and later deported.

    Numerous cases are pending against Nicolas Aguilar-Rivera, a visiting Mexican priest who has been accused by at least 13 kids in the Archdiocese of Los Angeles.  He fled the country after a warrant was issued for his arrest.  These cases are relevant internationally because the victims allege that Aguilar-Rivera was protected by a Mexican Cardinal and hidden in LA.

    Did you get all of that?

    Honorable Mentions

    I did neglect some of the honorable mentions, like the two California priests – one deported and convicted in England (James Robinson) and one fighting deportation (Patrick McCabe).  Or Orange County Priest Luis Ramirez, who recently finished serving his sentence for a 2008 plea bargain for which Anaheim police and prosecutors wanted the priest a registered sex offender for life.

    And let’s not forget the big one: we are still waiting for the Los Angeles Archdiocese 2007 secret personnel files … But that’s a story for another day.

  • The Better Path to Sainthood

    Note: The following post was scheduled to be published by a major metropolitan newspaper.  Recent world events bumped it permanently.  I am okay with that.

    The beatification of Pope John Paul II upset and outraged thousands of victims of sexual abuse in the Catholic Church around the world … and rightfully so.  Media coverage, history and the church’s own documents show that John Paul II oversaw a global church that covered-up for and facilitated thousands of cases of childhood sexual abuse.  I am one of the voices of outrage.

    I am a victim of childhood sexual abuse in the Catholic Church; and since 2003, I have been a volunteer public spokesperson and survivor advocate.  It’s not a glamorous gig. My office is my kitchen table. I have suffered bed bugs and heat in Florida and sub-zero temperatures in Alaska Native Villages with no running water. I have trudged on and off of trains in Europe, sat alone in public meeting rooms in Guam, visited Native American Indian Reservations in South Dakota and have been stranded in more airports than I can count.

    What does it mean when an ordinary survivor like me can show that she has traveled father and done more to meet with the Church’s victims than the Pope? Or that I can name at least 200 of my friends and colleagues who are braver, stronger, smarter, and far more photogenic than I am — and who have done more, traveled farther and endured more than I could ever attempt?

    It means that John Paul II should not become a saint. Period.

    It’s About the Institutional Cover-Up, Stupid

    Since 2002, the world has watched as Catholic Church officials have been forced to come clean about child sexual abuse and cover-up.  Some church officials only begrudgingly turned over secret abuse files because brave victims used the tried-and-true civil justice system.  Other church officials were forced by law enforcement or required by criminal courts.  But let’s face it:  Transparency did not come voluntarily.  In fact, I cannot recall a single predator’s secret personnel file that was made public by a voluntary move on the part of a bishop.  My research has yet to find a single priest file that was voluntarily turned over – in its entirety – to law enforcement because of “church reforms.”

    In fact, most Catholic Church officials still refuse to make public a centuries-old strategy and policy of wrongdoing, abuse and cover-up.  This strategy of secrecy and abuse came right from the Vatican and it is protecting predators RIGHT NOW.  The time to condone this strategy is over.

    Exposing the sex abuse crisis in the Catholic Church is not about politics, nor is an assault on religion or faith.  It is about the institutional cover-up of abuse, abusers and evidence. The transparency and accountability we demand are components of morals, ethics and justice.  It is about the safety of children and the healing of the most vulnerable and fragile among us.  It is about adhering to the law.

    Charity and good works mean nothing when we are forced to pay for them with the lives of our children. Since the citizenry of the United States demands accountability from every other aspect of our society, it is now time to demand it from Catholic Church officials.  The American people don’t wax poetic about the career of Richard Nixon and ignore Watergate.  And we can’t do the same thing here.

    The Better Path

    Unfortunately, there is little we can do to stop John Paul II’s path to sainthood.  But there is much we can do to expose his crimes of omission and complicity, as well as the crimes of his colleagues.  We can allow victims their day in court by reforming our criminal and civil laws.  We can strengthen existing laws against predators and those who cover up for them.  We can work with Congress to ensure that we have national standards to protect children from sexual abuse. We can work to revoke the nonprofit status of ANY organization that has been shown to allow abuse, transfer abusers and cover-up crimes.  We can support victims in other countries who are also speaking out for children.  We can encourage grand juries across the United States to do what the mostly Catholic Philadelphia Grand Jury has done – investigate abuse, expose predators, and indict criminals.

    As a nation, we can refuse to allow victims of sexual abuse in the Catholic Church to be marginalized.  We can tell church officials that the survivors DO matter, whether the abuse occurred yesterday or in 1945.  As a nation, we can embrace the hurting child in every victim of childhood sexual abuse, because the pain never goes away.

    If we do these small and simple things, we will have done far more than Catholic Church officials – or Pope John Paul II – have ever done.  And we can all be on the better path to sainthood.

  • The Wet Fish Face-Slap of Fear

    People tell me that I’m brave. But I’m not. I know fear. It’s closing in quickly. And I may fold.

    There are a lot of seemingly scary things that don’t bother me at all. I have no problem speaking in front of groups. Travel is a breeze – give me a plane ticket and a six-pack of Diet Pepsi, and I’ll conquer the world. Travel alone? Go to Guam? No problem. Live in a foreign country? Easy. Come home with parasites and the mumps? No sweat. Press conference in Rome with 48 hours notice to get on a plane? A breeze.

    Having a kid? Well, that’s a story for another day. But I digress …

    The wet fish face-slap of fear is looming.

    I haven’t been sleeping well since the date was set. Usually around 4 am, I wake up with a nervous sweat (not a hot flash, thank you very much), go downstairs, get a drink of water, and worry. Nervous energy has resulted in a clean house, folded laundry, and complete reorganization of the settings for our crappy DVR.

    Why? Because I agreed to sing in a recital on August 8. And I think it’s gonna kill me.

    A little history …

    I’ve been a singer and performer for most of my life.  Not star quality, but a solid choral singer who could do the occasional musical theater lead … except in Southern California, where I am an almost-middle-aged, fishy-smelling minnow in a vast ocean of Channel-No. 5-scented, mega-talented sharks.

    My parents were not the stage parent type.  They were more like “exit door” parents, where every role I won was met with a lukewarm, “Oh. Are you sure you can pull that off?” (Thanks, Mom. Remind me to use you as a job reference. With your confidence in my abilities, I’m a shoo-in.)

    I studied opera for a short time in college, but my baggage, lack of drive, and desire to lie on the couch and watch 21 Jumpstreet pointed me towards the less labor intensive English degree at UCSB. The baggage was bad: for those of you who don’t know, the man who molested me was my choral instructor … a total buzz-kill for any future career potential as a singer. Once bitten, twice shy.

    So, I played around in community musical theater (still totally my love and where in Colorado and California I have met the most amazing people in my life), sang in a couple of choirs (this one, too, when it had a different name), and found a great teacher who has made me ten times the singer I thought I could be.

    But this? This is a whole new kettle of wet fish face-slap reality.

    W.C. Fields is looking at me and laughing. The program will include 17-year-olds with scholarships to Julliard, a couple of tweens who already have opera careers, and, knowing my luck, a standard poodle who can sing La donna e mobile in the style of Jose Carreras (You know, the “other guy” in The Three Tenors), and … me.

    My teacher keeps telling me, “Joelle, you’re mature now. You can sing things that these kids can’t. They would just sound silly.  You have experience on your side.”

    I smile and ask for a funeral dirge. She is not amused.

    So, I’ll be singing a solo and a duet (with Robin, my teacher and very good friend). In the meantime I am looking for a doctor who will give me a prescription for horse tranquilizers.

    I’m gonna need them.

  • What’s in a name?

    I got the first call from a friend with the statement I have been dreading:

    “I don’t like the name of your blog.  I think it will turn people off.”

    It was only a matter of time before anyone said anything.  Fortunately, my friend made sure to be as nice and tactful as possible.  Plus, he’s a mega-smart guy, a fellow blogger, and someone whom I respect greatly.

    He was also smart enough to shower me with compliments before he dropped the bomb.  I’m a sucker for a compliment: if you tell me that I look thin or that I’m having a good hair day, I’m your slave.

    I told him I would take his good counsel into consideration.  And I have.  A lot.

    My conclusion:  The name stays.

    I have spent my career as an advocate “pushing the envelope” of people’s thinking in order to help get justice for victims and protect kids.  Because of who I am and what I stand for, I force people to (sometimes unwillingly) look very, very closely at the abuses of the religious institution in which they have invested their lives, their marriages and their children.  What I have to tell them is not pretty, but I have always been honest, always been sincere, and always tried to maintain a somewhat healthy attitude.  Because of hundreds of people like me around the world, things are changing – for the better.

    Honestly, I don’t think I have ever used the word “puke” in a sentence more than two or three times in my life.  But in this case, it works.  Hopefully, it will make people think.  I already know it makes some people laugh.

    And really, that’s why I’m doing this.  With anger, we get nowhere.  But if we have smiles on our faces, we can change the world (or at least stop crying for a while).

    Puke is not pretty. But it can be funny.  Just like parenting.

    The Pope?  Well, I think that we are seeing that “making Joelle puke” is the least of his crimes.

    Even the NYT is picking it up (a little late, as Kathy Shaw and I know ….).  You can read my response/statement here.

  • The Perfectionist and The Poop

    A popular question I get from journalists is: “What is the hardest thing you have ever done?”

    They expect an answer like “coming forward publicly about my story,” “doing press conferences,” “fighting church leaders who called me a liar,” “grappling with my parents about the abuse,“ “Filing my lawsuit,” etc.

    Usually, I give them an answer along those lines, because it’s mostly correct.

    But this blog is about the truth, so I am going to be honest:

    The hardest thing I have ever had to do – BAR NONE – was potty train my son. Period.

    A year of my life was dominated by a perfectionist’s life-and-death struggle with poop, poop prediction, and eventual poop containment.  The result?  Insanity.

    In an earlier post, I mentioned that I am a perfectionist. When I do something, I have to do it right, or I won’t do it at all. Unfortunately, that also means that I was the kid in kindergarten who cried when she colored outside the lines. Pair that a total lack of control over the bowels of a toddler, and you have my own personal hell. It was the Joelle version of Sartre’s “No Exit.”  Me, the poop and the potty.  No exit, no compromise, no hope …

    Through an innocent question on Facebook, I found out that potty training is one of those flamin’ hot parenting topics like breast-feeding, car seats and public education.  Opinions and judgments swarm like flies.  (It reminded me of my favorite cliché: opinions are like assholes, everyone has one and they all stink.)

    So, I did my best. I tried positive reinforcement.  I used a doll as an example.  I bought three different potties.  I sent him to play with friends who used the potty.

    And I failed miserably.

    I found poop on the floor.  I found a poop on the counter.  I found a poop in a suitcase.   And of course, I bought toddler underwear by the gross (pun intended).

    Wee wee was just as bad.  No matter how many times I asked if he had to go, the answer was always no.  Then, the second I turned around, I heard a sound which harkened back to the days of horseback riding.  Bounceback spray and all.

    I was slowly coming unglued.

    Fortunately, wee wee wrestling was eventually put under control.  In fact, I knew I had won that little battle the day I was forced to bring Nicholas to a clergy abuse press conference with me.  Since I was a spokesman and he was still little, I held him.  While the victim in the case was taking questions about his abuse, I noticed Nicholas began to lean into the bank of microphones.

    The rest happened in slow motion.

    Calmy and clearly, he announced, “I have to go wee wee.”

    Instantly, every parent in the media pool broke into spontaneous applause.  One even shouted, “You are such a good boy!”

    The rest looked at us dumbfounded.  But I didn’t care. For a brief moment, victory was mine.

    (We were also lucky that the brave victim in the case didn’t mind being upstaged.  He had a nephew he was helping to potty train.  He was a part of the brotherhood)

    However, the battle of the poop still raged.

    Time was ticking.  Nicholas was about to enter preschool: the land “where no poop shall touch the pants.”  By the time the first day of school rolled around, I was defeated.  Desperation forced my bargain: “I don’t care where you poop, “ I told him on the first day of school.  “Just do not poop in your pants at school.  You can hold it right?”

    He assured me he would.

    It lasted about two weeks.

    Then I was subject to looks of pity from teachers when I picked him up.  Even the little girl down the street gave me the play-by-play of EXACTLY what Nicholas was doing in class every time he got the special “far-away glance” and let it all go.

    By Thanksgiving, Nicholas was suspended.

    The day the teacher told me that he had to stay home. I did what any solid perfectionist would do in that situation:  I cried.  Right there in front of Miss Connie and a gaggle of three-year-olds.  A couple of kids hugged me and said, “It’s okay, Nicholas’ mommy.  He’ll poop on the potty someday.”

    Someday …

    “I can guarantee that he will not wear a diaper when he leaves for college.” Mike told me in an attempt to keep me from killing myself.  Great, I thought.  I guess that the 16-year-old who craps his pants also doesn’t run the risk of knocking up the head cheerleader.  So, I’ve got that going for me.

    Then a funny thing happened.

    A few days before Christmas, Nicholas was playing with his cars when he got “that look” on his face.  Then, he stood up and walked to the bathroom.  Avoiding the comprehensive selection of potties, he lifted the lid of the adult toilet, sat down, and … pooped.  In the toilet.  Then he flushed it.

    I leaned against the doorjamb to keep from passing out.  Noticing my shock, he looked at me sweetly and said:

    “I only poop on the big potty.  I can reach it now.”

    He’s a perfectionist.  I’m doomed.